


on love, on life

by itsfromjapaAAAAAAAN (alex_marie1324)



Series: the one 'verse [2]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Making Up, Marriage, Relationship Problems, Therapy, therapy is good you hoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 18:04:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14574576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_marie1324/pseuds/itsfromjapaAAAAAAAN
Summary: and i can't let it bother me,if fact and fate just can't agree on love, on life.can we stop taking ourselves too seriously?





	on love, on life

**Author's Note:**

> [song inspo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0T2QucShgiw)
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> originally posted on [my amino](http://aminoapps.com/p/uu8nd84) a little bit ago

_so i sit here writing words in our old place,_  


Jeremy didn’t know what to do with himself. What did one do when left by their spouse? Take up a new hobby? Maybe he’d try golfing. That seemed to be what single men in their thirties were doing nowadays.

He laughed bitterly at the idea. Golfing. Though anything to keep him from thinking about what happened was probably a good idea.

At the suggestion of the Internet (the best and most professional therapist) he started journaling to get his thoughts out of his head.

_they all come out as letters._

But every journal entry came out reading like a letter. He wouldn’t dare say to whom, but it was understood who he was meaning to address. The ‘letters’ were full of apologies and bargains. ‘Please come back’s and ‘I miss you’s.

 _and i contemplate mistakes that we all make_  
_the start and the ending of eras_

He wasn’t sure writing these was helping anymore, but he also didn’t know when to stop. There didn’t seem to be a shortage of thoughts in his head and things he wanted to say. Things he wanted to tell him. But he couldn’t, so he put them on paper.

Paper, he found, was a good listener. It took what he had to say and simply absorbed it. It didn’t make him explain himself because he already was explaining himself plainly in the words.

 _when mystery fades,_  
_we identify the problems,_  
_but, they may not be problems after all._

Jeremy avoided it for quite some time, but eventually he had to address it: what went wrong. He tried to come up with a list of problems, reasons why he left.

But he wasn’t in Michael’s head. He never was, though he wished he could be so he’d understand.

For all he knew, the ‘problems’ he was coming up with weren’t even issues. Weren’t even on Michael’s mind every time he packed his things.

 _shock and dismay; they affect what we say,_  
_we should bite our tongues, we should bite our tongues._  
_cos after all, it's only our lives anyway._

He never dared to speak to someone other than his journal. He knew a part of him was still irrational and hurt, swaying the logical side of him from the way he should be feeling.

And, to him, it seemed it wouldn’t make a difference anyway. Whether he spoke to someone or not, the thoughts would still be rattling around in his head. Bouncing off the walls of his mind.

So he bit his tongue and clenched the pencil between his fingers.

 _and i can't let it bother me,_  
_if fact and fate just can't agree on love, on life._  
_can we stop taking ourselves too seriously?_

Jeremy came to believe- recognize, in his mind- that he just had to accept that life didn’t work out. He’d always thought of Michael as his soulmate, something unseeable tying them together, but reality was cold. Reality came in with sharp scissors to severe the bond.

It was silly to think they could escape it. They weren’t immune somehow to the real world, but he wished they could’ve been. He wished they could’ve been shielded.

 _so i sit here carving words into the wall,_  
_words that remind me of just how i was._

It started to become stressful. He pressed his pencil down, stabbing into the paper. Hurting his silent listener until the lead snapped and flew across the room.

And there went his only medium, leaving him with nothing but the words pressed so hard into the paper, it left indents on the desk. ‘I was a fool.’

 _i never felt as old and lonely as i felt,_  
_when i was young and in love._

Overwhelmingly, he was lonely. His heart ached for a love that was now lost. And yet, he was still in love. He knew he was young enough to move on and find love again, but he didn’t _want_ to.

_when mystery fades,_

But Michael came back. With nothing but a single backpack of clothing in his hands. Jeremy understood what that meant; only a few days worth of clothes. Michael had packed for rejection.

”Can I come in?”

”Please,” Jeremy couldn’t say it with enough meaning.

 _we identify the problems,_  
_but, they may not be problems after all_

”We need to talk,” Michael said a few steps in.

Jeremy almost laughed. No kidding. “Yeah,” he ended up replying.

Michael set his bag down on the kitchen table. “I want this to work.”

”Me too.”

They share a moment of silent eye contact.

 _shock and dismay, they affect what we say,_  
_we should bite our tongues, we should bite our tongues._  
_cos after all, it's only our lives anyway..._

Jeremy had a hard time opening up. He always had, tending more towards hiding his feelings and bottling them up until the bottle filled and finally spilled over.

Michael hardly let that happen. Jeremy envied it greatly. Michael almost always knew how to say what he was feeling, even if it came with explosive sobs and shaking hands. He could still say what he felt through that. Jeremy simply stayed closed.

“I think we should see a therapist,” Michael said. It was just three days since he’d returned and every attempt to talk led to dead ends.

“Okay.”

 _and i can't let it bother me,_  
_if fact and fate just can't agree on love, on life,_  
_can we stop taking ourselves too seriously?_

He walked into therapy with a generally positive outlook. A hope that this, /this/ would be the catalyst for them to finally, truly, deeply fix things.

It obviously wasn’t a cure-all, and he wasn’t so naïve to expect as much. But he believed that to make something work, he first had to believe that it would work.

 _can’t let it bother me,_  
_if fact and fate just can't agree on love, on life_  
_can we stop taking ourselves too seriously?_

It took a few years, a few hundred therapy sessions, a few breakdowns, but it was all worth it for the end result.

He could finally say they were happy again. They still went to therapy, but less than before. Where they used to go once every two weeks, now they only go once every three months. Because after a while, they’d learned how to communicate during the in between time.

And even if they had to go for the rest of their lives, it would be worth it.

Jeremy didn’t regret a second of it.

 _too seriously,_  
_too seriously..._


End file.
